Potter stepped back and pointed to it
majestically.
"That," he said, "is the size of the drink I am about to take!"
"Mr. Potter," said Canby hotly, "will you tell me what's the
matter with my play? Haven't I made every change you suggested?
Haven't--"
Potter tossed his arms above his head and flung himself full
length upon the chaise lounge.
"STOP it!" he shouted. "I won't be pestered. I won't! Nothing's
the matter with your play!"
"Then what--"
Potter swung himself round to a sitting position and hammered
with his open palm upon his knee for emphasis: "Nothing's the
matter with it, I tell you! I simply won't play it!"
"Why not?"
"I simply won't play it! I don't like it!"
The playwright dropped into a chair, open-mouthed. "Will you
tell me why you ever accepted it?"
"I don't like any play! I hate 'em all! I'm through with 'em
all! I'm through with the whole business! 'Show-business!'
Faugh!"
Old Tinker regarded him thoughtfully, then inquired: "Gone back
on it?"
"I tell you I'm going to buy a farm!" He sprang up, went to the
mantel and struck it a startling blow with his fist, which
appeared to calm him somewhat--for a moment.
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